


Gentle Fire

by ChibiStarr



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Character musing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 12:52:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13248633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibiStarr/pseuds/ChibiStarr
Summary: A sleepy story of two Wardens.





	Gentle Fire

The fire was getting low, Duncan mused as he watched the dancing flames winding down, now about half the height they had been half an hour ago. Not that the warmth was important, it was quite a nice night, but he didn’t like the absence of light with the forest surrounding them. It made his fingers play with the pommel of his dagger nonstop, ready to yank it out at a moment’s notice and leap upon any perceived intruder to their small circle of safety. He really should have been getting up to throw more logs on, but he was currently indisposed with no method of untangling himself that he particularly liked.

Said current disposer watched him with half-lidded eyes from the depths of his lap, amusement sparkling in the flickers of light that the fire threw their way. Riordan did not speak, but to be fair that was something he did on occasion. There were times he was so silent and still that it was easy to forget he was even there, but Duncan never forgot. A part of his brain was always aware of the other Warden’s presence when he was nearby, just like he did not have to look at the moon to know that it was still in the sky. There were words swimming around in that gaze, though, Duncan was more than aware of that. Even if Riordan did not speak he always had something to say.

His companion nursed a cup between both hands, some dark liquid he had poured out of his vint bottle that had Duncan wrinkling his nose from the hint of vinegar that wafted to his senses. Riordan was pure Orlesian down to his bones, nevermind his Ferelden part, only taking wine to add to his bottle despite how quickly it could go sour, yet when he had taken a sip of the offered cup from earlier the fire went down surprisingly smooth. A pleasant one, to say the least, much like Riordan himself.

Riordan, on the other hand, had taken one mouthful of Duncan’s creation and sputtered, sending him into a coughing fit that lasted nearly five whole minutes before Duncan was finally able to make him drink some cold water to wash the burn away.

_“Maker’s breath, Duncan! You could blind someone if you tossed that into their eyes.”_

_A laugh. “You exaggerate. Your Orlesian tongue is far too familiar with wine to get used to the hotter spirits. This is what keeps me from freezing to death in Ferelden every year.”_

_“Pah, what is in there anyway? There’s something else burning in there that isn’t alcohol. It’s...sweet?”_

_“I always said a fiery vint is nothing that a spoonful of honey and cinnamon can’t fix.”_

That was a while ago, long enough when the fire had been roaring and he could see the rosy color bloom across Riordan’s face from the effects of the alcohol. His skin had always been too pale in Duncan’s opinion, too drawn, and when some life was finally breathed into it the change was stunning. Not that Riordan was not plenty handsome on a regular basis, but he was a man who excelled in a red complexion.

The fire. It was still going down and Riordan’s face was mostly in shadow at this point, half buried into Duncan’s lap as he was, and he felt a rather irrational sting of annoyance that he could no longer see the Orlesian so clearly. But getting up meant moving and Riordan would have to be moved as well, their peaceful balance disrupted—

A hand gently brushing his own made him pause, and he looked down to see Riordan’s eyes staring at him intently. Most might have been at the very least unsettled with how hard Riordan could make his gaze, but Duncan was not one of them. Carefully, Riordan pried his hand from the pommel of his dagger and brought it to him instead, placing it at his side and nuzzling into the new position. “Don’t be so fidgety,” Riordan muttered, taking a sip from his cup. “If anyone is out there waiting to strike they will wait for us to go to sleep before making their move.”

Duncan very much wanted his dagger back in his grip, but feeling the curve of Riordan’s ribs under his fingers was a much more powerful draw. There was something strange and incredibly intimate about it; these were the bones that held him together yet it would be so easy to slip a dagger between them and end Riordan’s life right there. And the other knew it, but he put Duncan’s hand there anyway.

“We still need to put more wood on,” Duncan protested, his voice a soft murmur as he traced the hard curves with his fingers to where they joined at the sternum. There he could feel the first faint drumming of Riordan’s heart, calmly and yet powerfully beating behind the safety of flesh and bone. It was what kept him _alive._

There were few things Duncan found more amazing and precious than the fact that Riordan was merely alive at all, a living and breathing person right here in front of him.

“It can wait a moment,” Riordan answered to the reply he had almost forgotten he had said. His hand was suddenly cupping Duncan’s face, trailing idly through the hairs of his beard and insistently turning the Rivaini to face him. Just then he sat up, arranging himself and setting down his cup before taking Duncan’s face in both of his hands and kissing him.

Duncan was surprised at the action, but welcomed it wholeheartedly, returning it without hesitation. Riordan always had the softest, yet most insistent kisses that Duncan never grew tired of; if anything his fellow Warden had him wanting more. He tasted faintly of his wine, but distilled with Riordan’s natural flavor had Duncan wondering why in the world he ever drank that burning stuff from his own bottle and why he didn’t spend every moment of his day stealing kisses from Riordan’s wine-touched lips.

One more thing he loved about Riordan, the other loved to indulge. Long past the point anyone else would have pushed away, sated with what they had received, Riordan kept giving and sharing, the minutes crawling by as they stayed locked together, speaking but without words. It was enough to make his head spin in the most delightful way until they finally, belatedly, broke apart.

Riordan was glowing again, even in the faint light that was obvious and it was just as beautiful as it was the first time. “See? Nothing to worry about,” he murmured, settling himself back down again, except his posture much more relaxed and showing that he had every intention of falling asleep like this.

“Oh no no,” Duncan said with a chuckle, holding the Orlesian back while he leaned out and grabbed a log they had cut earlier. Except he wasn’t so focused on leaving Riordan to actually stand up, so with a twist of his wrist he deftly tossed the wood onto the fire. Then another, then another.

Gentle laughter caressed his ears and as he settled himself back down Riordan claimed his spot again, the amusement back tenfold. “You are unstoppable,” he teased, yet there was clear admiration there. One of his hands picked at the patterns in the fabric above Duncan’s hip, tracing the swirls there.

Duncan threaded his fingers in Riordan’s hair, playing with the long strands much to the other’s delight.  “They didn’t make me senior Warden for my age,” was all he remarked, watching as the growing light brought out new, sharper details that he could go back to observing in peace.


End file.
